


Blank Canvas

by nesrynfaliq



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Sexual Content, Smut, empire of storms, post queen of shadows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 16:30:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6617947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nesrynfaliq/pseuds/nesrynfaliq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Hot and steamy kiss: Post Queen of Shadows, Rowan returns from a week-long scouting mission across Terrasen. He and Aelin reconnect. M rating, sexual content ahead, you have been warned.</p>
<p>Teaser: It’s only now, now he’s kissing her like a drowning man needing her air, now her body is pressed so seamlessly against his that it feels as though when the gods carved out their shapes it was always with this intention; of them being one, now she’s gripping on to him as though he’s her last, her only anchor to this world, that he realises just how much he had missed her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blank Canvas

The door behind her opens and the two daggers lying innocently on her dressing table are in her hands and concealed at her back before her heart can get in another beat.

Darting forwards she’s pinned the intruder against the wall of her bedroom, one blade intimately close to his throat the other at his navel, before his pine and snow scent registers and she recognises him.

The blades clatter to the floor and skitter away as she presses herself against him, breaking the tension that had flared up between them at the hair’s breadth of space she had allowed to exist between their taut bodies when she had backed him into the wall.

“Rowan,” she whispers faintly against his chest, breathing him in as though this is the first time she’s breathed at all since he left over a week ago.

And perhaps it is.

“It hasn’t been that long, surely,” he huffs, looking vaguely amused as he smirks down at her, despite the eyebrow he has raised at the daggers she had just pressed to his neck.

“Long enough,” is all she has time to half say, half growl before she stands on her toes, need overwhelming her, and steals a rough, possessive kiss from him.

All thoughts of updating her on the progress of her steadily forming court are swept clean out of his head at the heat of her mouth on his. Hands gripping her hips and pulling her close, their bodies jarring together with the force of impact, the force of his need, of his desire for closeness, for the feel of her on him, even the clothes they wear suddenly feeling like an unbearable barrier between them.

Gazing down at her when they finally break apart he sees that she’s wearing a thin robe of a loose, light material which makes it altogether too obvious that it’s the only thing she’s wearing. Rowan’s stood on bloody, vicious killing fields without even flinching but the sight of her bare skin, lightly tanned from the time she’s spent beneath the Terrasen sun these past few weeks makes his legs shake gods damn him.

Unable to contain himself, something, judging by her near wolfish grin, she doesn’t have any interest in him doing, he slides his calloused hands around her waist and flips them in a single fluid motion, pinning her down against the wall she had so recently backed him in to, hearing the faint gasp of air bursting from her lungs as he does so, that smile never faltering or flickering for one heartbeat as he lets himself tower over her and she presses right in against him, always giving as good as she gets.

There’s nothing but hunger in those deep green eyes as he slowly and with deliberate precision places his palms flat against the wall on either side of her head, bracing himself over her, making sure that he fills every sense she has, obliterating the world beyond them. His gaze drags slowly, _lovingly_ , down her body, lingering on every curve and contour he knows so well, the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the shapely muscles of her legs.

_Bastard_. Bastard for looking at her like that, for making her heart pound so fast she might just have stepped from a killing field, for sending heat and need pulsing through her with such force that for a moment she barely knows her own name for wanting him, unable to find room in her for what feels in that moment, like an utterly unnecessary piece of information.

Reaching forwards, letting his fingers graze against her scorched skin, knowing how much the fleeting whispers of his touch ghosting over her will wind her up as he delicately picks at the tie around her waist, undoing the knot with torturous slowness, never breaking eye contact with her.

He’s so close she can feel their breath mingling in the almost non-existent space between them.

“Rowan,” she whispers faintly, trying to urge him on but he only growls at her, his fingers maintaining their agonizing pace, his eyes still fixed relentlessly on hers with an intensity that threatens to consume her as she burns before him.

Gently, giving her a faint smile as he does so, he picks apart the two halves of her robe, not fully baring her to him, not yet, but just enough to reveal the skin of her neck, the soft column of her throat. Pausing just long enough to give her a taut, feral smile, he leans in and kisses the flesh he’s just exposed, dragging his canines across her throat, breaking the skin enough to make her hiss but not enough to draw blood.

“Are you really trying to kill me after all?” he huffs against her neck, the heat of his breath almost unbearable, seeming to spread through every inch of her as he bears down on her while he tugs lightly at the robe that hides nothing-deliberately so- to make his meaning clear.

“Not until you fulfil that promise to me,” she rasps to him, dragging her lips over his, “What was it?” she asks, fighting to keep her tone light and innocent as his hands roam across her body, dragging the robe with him, making it lift ever so slightly, without ever fully coming free, “Something about making me moan-“

The rest of her words are lost in the growl that rumbles like furious, roiling thunder in his chest. Then his lips descend on hers once more, claiming her, claiming her the way he’s wanted to for weeks now, claiming her as _his._ The Fae male in him delighting at that thought and roaring its satisfaction.

Drawing away for a brief heartbeat, eyes dark and heavy; sodden with the weight of his hunger for her, he notes the way her body follows him, aching to close the distance between them. Groaning, he slides his fingers through her thick hair, coaxing her back to him, unable to bear being parted from her for even a moment, especially when her desperation is so evident.

Her mouth is soft and hot and starving and he can’t help the laugh he releases against her lips at the touch of her greedy tongue asking for, no, _demanding¸_ access. He grants it gladly and the taste of her, sweet and sensual but with a kick of the fire that blazes through her veins he loves so well to temper the initial misleading softness.

It’s only now, now he’s kissing her like a drowning man needing her air, now her body is pressed so seamlessly against his that it feels as though when the gods carved out their shapes it was always with this intention; of them being one, now she’s gripping on to him as though he’s her last, her only anchor to this world, that he realises just how much he had missed her.

It rattles through his bones and echoes through the forgotten hollows of his heart; that absence, that he had tried so hard to ignore, to play down. It rises up to consume his very essence, howling as he understands now that he only ever feels truly whole when he’s by her side- where he’s meant to be, where he belongs.

Dragging his hungry lips down to her neck where they know just where to kiss to fulfil that promise and make her moan he reaches down and grips her thigh in one of his calloused hands, lifting it and making the fabric of the robe that clings to her now sweat slick body peel away, revealing the supple skin beneath, and wraps it around his waist.

His kisses trail lower and lower and when he reaches the tops of her heaving breasts and the sound of her moans and the scent of her sweat and need overwhelm his senses he curls his arms around her hips and lifts her up, cradling her close to him and carrying her to the bed.

Now held over him, Aelin leans down her body smothering his like a haze, unable to bear any loss of contact from him, however brief, and kisses him, her fingers tangling through his silver hair. When they reach it he lowers her down onto the bed so gently, as though she’s made of glass, as though she’s so easily breakable, that had he been anyone else or looking at her with any other expression than the tender warmth she finds in his eyes, making her realise that he doesn’t think her breakable, only precious, she would have snapped at him.

Instead she arches up and pulls him down to kiss her again, the action rough and hot and full of enough desperation that when they break apart again, both panting for breath, there’s nothing left in those rich green eyes but ravenous, almost feral hunger.  

She smiles up at him, knowing that will shred any trace of self control he’s still managing to hang on to with the brutal efficiency of a predator. It does. With a rough snarl he tugs open her robe so hard that the delicate silver fastenings tear free of the fabric, baring her to him. She hisses her displeasure and he quickly smothers it with another rough kiss.

Bracing himself over her, holding himself so that his body hovers inches above hers he leans down and brushes a strand of hair from her face, his eyes dragging down the length of her and when they flick back up to hers at last she can read every last wicked thing he wants to do to her in them.

“Come on,” she growls, lifting herself up and kissing his neck, nipping at the skin in an effort to urge him on.

 Closing his eyes for long enough to master himself he opens them once more and lets her see the spark of amusement in them before a low, throaty chuckle rasp through him as he leans down and purrs in her ear, “So demanding,” he whispers, taking his finger and pressing it to her lips as though to silence her before he drags it down the length of her body, from her collarbone, between the valley of her breasts, down her chest, her toned stomach, her navel, letting it pause on the insides of her thighs where it begins endlessly sketching faint designs into her hot skin, “But after all this waiting I fully intend to take my time with you, Aelin,” he says, allowing the last word to pass his lips in a feral growl that sends shivers arcing up her spine like lightning.

She trembles at the way he says her name, the possession, the promise in it and she closes her eyes as he dips in to kiss her again, slowly coaxing soft whimpers and moans from her as though her body is an instrument only he knows how to play like this.

As he trails kisses over her scorched skin he forces himself to keep a firm grip on his self control, making himself go slow and steady. He wants to savour this, this moment with her and he wants to savour _her_ ; every glorious inch of her. His roaming hands and lips carefully map out every part of her, taking stock of every curve, every blemish, every scar, like an artist assessing his blank, naked canvas, deciding just how to proceed with the masterpiece he intends they make together.

She’s wet and writhing beneath him, only able to gasp out his name- a damning and a prayer all at once for what he’s done to her and what she still demands he do, as his mouth finds her breast and he finally, _finally_ lets his fingers feather between her legs when the door to their bed chamber bangs against the wall.

Rowan reacts on instinct, shielding her body with his own and grabbing for a weapon before he recognises Aedion standing in the doorway saying, without pausing to note the state of the people he’s trying to address, “Some of the nobles you sent for have arrived, cousin, I thought you should- _Gods above,_ ” he breaks off abruptly, taking stock of them on the bed and the scent that lingers like pipe smoke over the room.

Behind him, Aelin gathers up the sheets to hide her nakedness along with her dignity, cheeks glowing with an identical flush to the colour staining Aedion’s face. Rowan deftly shifts aside so as not to get in the way of her considerable ire as she directs it all at her cousin, “You rutting idiot!” she barks at him while Rowan pointedly examines the ceiling, fighting to keep his features neutral, “This is a palace, not one of your damn war camps, knock next time.”

“IF I’d known you were _busy_ ,” Aedion drawls, his eyes, so like hers, full of a mixture of embarrassment and intense amusement that, from the look on her face, he would do well to keep better concealed, putting a delicate emphasis on the last word that makes her nostrils flare dangerously, “I would have. But I thought you would want to know immediately.”

Sighing heavily, Aelin waves a hand in dismissal saying, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

Aedion doesn’t need to be asked twice and vanishes, leaving them alone again without another word.

“I think”< Rowan growls lightly, hunger and desire for her still blazing in his eyes as he curls a possessive hand around her hip, “You may need a little longer than that.”

For a moment the temptation is etched into every line of her face but then she groans, dragging her fingers through her sweaty hair, “No,” she sighs with obvious effort and resignation, “No, this is important, I have to do it properly,” she tells him, kicking loose the sheets that are bunched around her, “Queen first, Aelin later,” she says with a determination and certainty he knows better than to try and argue against.

Still, he can’t stop himself from reaching forward and nipping gently at her neck, huffing his breath out against her skin to make her shiver once more for him, “But later, Fireheart...” he rumbles softly, allowing the words left unsaid to contain a loaded promise he knows she can read in his eyes.

 That wicked, wild grin he loves so well drags across her lips and she breathes in his ear, “ _Later_ , I don’t care if every noble lord and their wives are listening, I _am_ going to make you finish what you started here,” she hisses to him.

He steals another rough kiss, snarling at her tone, and at her promise, before he helps her bathe and change for court, both of them intimately aware he’s already thinking of exactly how he’s going to strip this dress from her bit by bit later on.

****

 

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at Rowaelin, I had a little bit of trouble finding their voices but this was a lot of fun. Feedback is very much appreciated and encourged, thank you!


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